


Herbal Soothers

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 15:41:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs Hudson and John indulge in a few 'herbal soothers' and have a giant bitchfest about Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Herbal Soothers

“You are such a bloody child sometimes, Sherlock!” John yelled. They’d been fighting over Sherlock’s petty refusal to lift a finger and help in the flat for the last quarter of an hour and they were both starting to grow a little weary of it, though neither would ever admit defeat. 

“You know I don’t do /chores/, John,” Sherlock spat out, saying the word ‘chores’ like it was physically distasteful. “They’re more your style anyway.”

“My style?!” John roared indignantly. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m sorry I couldn’t have a posh upbringing with five country estates and a stable full of horses and a full wait staff like you did, Sherlock, but that doesn’t mean you get to slack off for the rest of your life! You have to grow up sometime!”

Sherlock stared at him, long and hard. “You know what, fine. I’m going out. I have... things to do. Don’t wait up.” And with that, he turned sharply on his heel, snatched up his coat and within seconds, the slamming of the front door signalled that he was disappeared into the night. 

John nearly screamed in frustration. It was so annoying living with one of the world’s greatest geniuses, and he refused to do so much as the washing up once in a while, or God forbid his own laundry. John wondered for the millionth time how Sherlock had survived before he’d had a flatmate who cared a whole awful lot to help take care of him. He sat down heavily on the couch, running his fingers through his hair in annoyance for a moment before standing, straightening himself out, and making his way downstairs to 221A to pay a visit to Mrs Hudson. 

She was always asking that John come down and sit with her, have a cup of tea and just chat. And for the most part, when he could, John obliged her. He knew it meant a lot to their landlady when he came and listened to her stories about her grandchildren and so forth while she nursed her bad hip. A few times she’d even regaled him with tales of her less than spotless youth, but he normally tried to steer the conversation back towards something a bit more family friendly. There was a point of being nice and friendly, and then there was just knowing far too much. He knocked on her door, composing his face and smiling at her when the door opened. 

Mrs Hudson’s eyes were somewhat bleary, but she smiled at John nonetheless. “John!” she said, the word a bit slow and heavy. “You came for a visit, how nice. Come inside, come inside.” She’d obviously heard John and Sherlock bickering upstairs and it had given her a mother of a headache. Taking matters into her own hands, she’d decided to whip up some of her infamous ‘herbal soothers’, a delightful drink (tea based of course) that just made problems seem to fade away. As an added bonus, it tasted /amazing/. She hugged John a little tighter than normal, seeming to lean on him for support for a moment before straightening up again and making her somewhat wobbly way over to the counter. 

“You and Sherlock had a bit of a domestic?” she asked, not really a question. But what was most curious was that her speech was slightly slurred, like she’d been drinking. And in fact she had, but not alcohol. 

John bit his lip. Mrs Hudson was clearly not herself at the moment, but as upset as he was, he really couldn’t bring himself to care all that much. He was a doctor and he was here making sure she was fine. He didn’t think much of it. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Bit, yeah. He refuses to do any chores at all and it’s maddening.”

She smiled. “Yes, dear thing that he is, he refuses to do even the tiniest bit of tidying up. And I’ve seen you dragging his laundry around, I suppose he won’t do that for himself either?”

John shook his head. “He won’t do a bloody thing,” he grumbled. 

She smiled a little wider, indulgent. “Ah, yes. Sherlock’s a trick one. Here, have one of my herbal soothers,” she offered, handing John a cup of tea. “I promise they make everything better.”

John took the teacup without a hint of trepidation. It was standard for him to receive tea whenever he made his way down here to pay their landlady a visit, and he thought nothing of it. He took a sip and grinned. “Quite good today Mrs H,” he praised. “Better even than usual.”

He took a few more sips, and his head started to feel a little woozy. He requested a change of location, to the living room where the chairs and couch were. He felt the need to sit down for a bit. Mrs Hudson heartily agreed, gripping his arm tightly and half dragging him into the living room. She was awfully... forceful and somewhat more affectionate than normal, sitting close to John on the couch and patting his knee in a grandmotherly fashion. He sipped again on the tea and smiled. He wasn’t worried anymore, he found. Nothing really mattered, you see. Everything was going to be just fine. He turned to her. “May I have another cup of this delightful concoction?” he asked politely, keeping his face completely serious as he made his somewhat overformal request. She snickered a bit and nodded, rising and returning with a large steaming mug of the stuff, none of this tiny little teacup stuff anymore. 

John took another long swallow and grinned to himself. “What’s in this, Mrs H?” he asked, his own tongue feeling heavy and hard to move in his mouth. “I might need to whip up some of this stuff when Sherlock’s being particularly annoying. “

“Oh you know, this and that,” she said enigmatically. “Nothing major. And nothing harmful, of course, John. You know I’d never do that to you.”

John nodded. He trusted Mrs Hudson, and whatever was in this drink, it was amazing. After a long, pregnant pause, he blurted out, “You know, I really hate Sherlock sometimes.”

Mrs Hudson looked up. “You do?” she asked, somewhat startled. “You two seem to the best of friends, completely inseparable when you’re working on a case and all.”

John snorted. “I didn’t say I hated him /all the time/,” he reminded her gently. “And when we’re on a case, he’s working, he’s got something other than his own lethargy to focus on. Because when he’s at home, he incurably lazy and refuses to do anything. As I’ve said.”

She smiled and shook her head. “Vent, John. You need it. Drink and vent.”

John bit his lip and just began to spew his grievances at his flatmate, taking sips of tea to wet his throat and grease his thoughts. “Well, as I’ve said he never cleans. He makes me do all his laundry which is absolutely ridiculous. He’s a grown man and I do his laundry because he won’t do it and it just sits around mouldering until I do something about it and I just can’t stand it anymore-“ here he broke for a moment to take a long sip of tea- “And he never goes to the shops either! Sends me out at all hours of the night to get him nicotine patches and milk and whatever ungodly thing he needs for some experiment or biscuits because he’s hungry or whatever. And I do it! I have no idea /why/ I do it, I have no motivation to really do so, but I do! And it’s insane! And then he has the nerve and the gall to complain about my few harmless vices, my crap telly and my tea. How dare he! My few things never got me arrested or the whole bloody Yard traipsing through our flat, poking at our stuff and muddying up the floors. He even screams at me for doing completely normal things, like sleeping in and going for walks. Says they’re boring and stupid.” He sat back, taking a big gulp of the tea and honestly feeling a bit better for the long rant. 

Mrs Hudson took the opportunity to jump in. “Oh, I know John, I do. Coming and out loudly at all hours of the day and night, and that giggle he gets when there’s been a murder! Oh, I know he needs the puzzles and all, but it’s just not /decent/, being that happy when there are people dead. And that-“John read her mind and joined her- “violin!” they said together. They both groaned and started talking at the same time. 

“Four in the morning when I’m trying to sleep, have to work at the clinic the next day-““-headaches from you know where and waking me up and-““I’ve wanted to smash that bloody violin a million times but I know he’d kill me and he’d be heartbroken if anything ever happened to it and- “”well at least it’s better than talking to that bloody skull-“ They babbled over each other for a few moments before falling silent, laughing. 

John kept going. “Oh and the way he talks to people! Like he’s some sort of king or emperor or something. And the way he mopes around and gets so bloody cranky when he’s ‘bored’. I don’t care how bored he gets; it is /never/ okay to shoot the walls.”

Mrs Hudson nodded vigorously. “Oh my, he’s lucky I do like him quite a bit or I would have charged him hundreds for the wall repairs. And the chemical burns on the ceiling and the way he’s just so... odd! I love him to death, but he’s not right, you know?” She tapped her head, indicating that maybe something was wrong with the way Sherlock’s brain was wired. 

John just burst out laughing, downing the rest of his tea. “Yes, Mrs Hudson, you’ve hit the nail on the head. He’s not quite right, is he?” The landlady couldn’t help but start to laugh too; the mellowing drugs in the tea making everything seem absolutely hilarious. They laughed and laughed for a long time, until their stomachs hurt and they gasped for breath. John, still chuckling lightly, got to his feet. “I really should be getting back to bed,” he said somewhat apologetically. “But thank you for a lovely evening.”

“Oh, of course dear,” she said, getting to her feet as well. She hugged John rather tighter than she intended, but the ‘soother’ was making her a bit woozy. “Okay John. Off to bed with you now.” She pushed him at the door lightly, smiling and watching him wobble off back up the stairs affectionately. 

John made the monumental effort to get back up the stairs, stumbling several times. He made a real effort to never get really drunk (too many bad experiences with his sister drowning her sorrows in the bottom of a bottle for that) but he had a few times when life and his PTSD just got too much for him. Getting back to the annoyingly walk up flat had been more difficult then, but this wasn’t exactly easy. He finally managed it, nearly falling in the door. He’d left the door unlocked, so it was easy to get back inside. 

Sherlock had returned from his sulking walk and was sitting curled up in the corner of the sofa, resting his chin on his knees. He looked up when John came back in, but the doctor didn’t seem to recognise that he was there. John went up to his room, giggling like a madman on the way up. He closed his door a bit too hard, but Sherlock didn’t mind. He shook his head. He was quite aware where John had been and what he’d been doing. He’d partaken of Mrs Hudson’s herbal soothers himself a few times. He smiled. There would be time to talk and make up from their fight later. Tonight was a night to do nothing at all.


End file.
